black and bitter
by a quirky little tune
Summary: When Riku's relationship with Kairi hits rock bottom, can a dying stranger save Riku and make him feel alive again? RikuSora, RikuKairi
1. every detail

**Black and Bitter**

* * *

I watch her take a sip of her coffee; black and bitter as it always is. She told me once that it actually helped her to wake up more, despite the horrid taste. Her nose would always scrunch up in a not exactly cute but not exactly stupid way as she drank it, as it did right now.

I know every little detail about her. She hates rap and prefers soft rock and country. She goes to church loyally every week and wears a small, silver cross on a thin chain. She adores romance novels but pretends to hide them from me so I can't make fun of her. She loves the cooking network but leaves abruptly when I fiddle around on the History channel.

She sleeps early and wakes up early. She makes a face when I pour myself a bowl of cereal, believing that I'll rot my teeth out one day. She prefers fruit over candy, apples over chocolate.

When I wake up in the morning, we're sometimes cuddled up real close and sometimes there's a gap between us that makes my head swim. There's never a fight for sheets or a rush for the first shower. I never accidentally use her vibrant purple toothbrush, nor does she mistake my sea green brush for hers. We never hit the snooze button, no matter how much I sometimes just want to cling to the warmth of our bed for the rest of the day.

She loves watching the stars and sometimes I can see her looking at me with bitterness for making her move to the city where the electric lights and smog always dim out the nighttime sky. On rainy days, she likes to lock herself up in our apartment, reading something light and happy, diving into a world where there is only sunshine and romance and stars.

Sometimes, I think she just wants to stay in those fantasies, regardless of whether I am with her or not. Sometimes, I think she could care less about me, about my dreams or my aspirations.

Sometimes, I _know_ she doesn't love me.

But I pretend. I like fantasy worlds too, where I succeed at my job, where I'm always healthy and forever young, and where the girl never leaves. And then something happens, as it always does, and I'm forcefully yanked out of my made-up world, as if someone had just slammed my fairy-tale book shut without warning.

These "somethings", they're always little things that make a huge impression on me. Tiny things that I could ignore, that I should ignore, that eat away at me until I feel slightly sick and empty inside.

She doesn't come home until an hour after the set time. She promises to go somewhere with me and then easily forgets. She throws away my favorite novel because she tells me it looks too worn and torn, though she doesn't actually tell me until I've got slightly nuts with panic a week later.

She hangs up without saying so much as a "Bye!", let alone an "I love you!".

Small things adding up to equal one big problem. But it was okay; I still had my fantasy world where everything was perfect and there was no rain.

And even that, she had to shatter eventually.

"I can't believe you're dragging me to this," I mutter. My arms feel like soggy lead as I drag them over and across my chest. My gaze shifts all over the car, out the windows, at the speedometer, at the empty pharmacist bag...

Fuck.

One hand gripping the steering wheel tight, Kairi, the girlfriend I know too much about, the girlfriend I pretended so much for, takes a small sip of her – bitter – coffee as a soft keening sound rises at the back of her throat.

"I-I know you hate this, but I really think it'll be g-good for us, you know? We're just going to go once, see how things go. It's worth a chance, it'll be good for us, Riku."

Riku. Stop saying my name; I'm so sick of hearing my name coming from those lips! Over the years, I'd heard her say "Riku" with a condescending tone, an upset tone, an angry tone, a happy tone, a passionate tone, a guarded tone. I'd have preferred any of those to the Wild-Animal, as I had so dubbed it, tone she was using now.

Soft, unsure, patronizing, cautious, pitying. I hate it, I hate hearing it. I hate her–

No. I hate myself; I would never be able to hate her, I know. Not even after what she had done to me, what she had done to us. It's sickening, horrible, unfair. I have every right to hate her and more.

I shake my head, silver hair falling into my face; I give an irritated huff, pushing the annoying strands out of my eyes, and decide to snarl back.

"It'll be good for us?"

What a motto. I believe I have heard that line being repeated to me at least 25 times a day for the past fourteen days.

Bitch. Destroyer. Whore.

...I still can't hate her.

"It'll be good for _you_, you mean," I snap as my face tightens with anger. "Try to assuage your guilt any way you want, Kairi, you're not fooling anyone in this car."

Kairi seems shocked – this is, after all, the most I've said to her in the past two weeks and I bet she was hoping for forgiveness or something. I almost snort aloud; I may not be able to hate her like I want, no -- deserve to, but I certainly don't owe her anything.

We hit a little bump in the road and I hear her sharp hiss as her cheap-ass black coffee sloshes over the top of her lidless styrofoam cup and splashes her on the back of her tiny hand. Agitated, she sets her coffee down in one of the cup holders and tries to inspect her reddening skin as well as navigate through evening traffic.

Time seems to slip over us in the slowest possible way. Finally, Kairi opens her pursed lips and lets out an agonized sigh.

"I know you're angry, but I think--"

Just stop, I mentally order her, just stop. Aloud, I say, "You think this, you think that. Funny how you can do all your thinking after you apparently weren't thinking at all."

The hiss she lets loose now has nothing to do with hot coffee; it gives me small tingles of satisfaction. If it wasn't for her driving, I know she would have turned to glare at me angrily. I don't give a flying fuck now, though. Before, perhaps, one of those glares would have shut me up instantly, probably made an apology fly from my lips in a quick babble. Not anymore; I am so sick, so tired.

It doesn't matter; _she_doesn't matter.

I still can't hate her, though.

"Riku, you... bastard..."

But both she and I know she's not going to say anymore than that. Not when I'm justified, not when there's nothing she really can say. Not when all her excuses are bullshit, flimsy when held up to the light.

She's just angry at everything, at everyone. At me, at herself, at her coffee, at the sky. At the words I say, at the fact that everything I accuse her of is true, at the fact that she did this to me and herself. The fact that my blame is not misplaced.

She hates being the one at fault for once, hates at having fucked up so badly. She's so pale, so tired nowadays, ever since that Monday afternoon two weeks ago. We both have bags under our eyes and we're both slouching over, though whether from laziness or from a feeling of vulnerability, I can't say.

I can't hate her, but I can hate my life.

She pulls up to our destination, a nondescript building located in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by some fucking woods, and gives me an expectant look.

Fuck. You.

Glaring with all I've got, I stubbornly stay in my seat, the seat belt digging into my hipbone uncomfortably. She wants me to get out, to leave the car first. Hell no; I don't even want to be here.

"Riku," she says, and this time, it's a mix between the Wild-Animal tone and the condescending one. I bristle up immediately, as if reacting to her as a real wild animal would. Finally she relents, releasing her own belt and leaning over to give me a small peck on the lips.

The burst of raw hate comes spiraling through me and I grip the cheap upholstery of our car with white fingers. It's not for her, though; of course not, never for her. For me. For letting her give me those chaste little kisses, for agreeing to come to this... this... _thing_ after nonstop badgering. For still staying at our tiny apartment in hopes that everything will disappear and my shattered fantasy world will return, good as new.

Funny. I'd never been one for self-hatred or self-pity or self-searching before any of this happened. I'd always been confident, on the verge of arrogant, with a simple outlook to life. Focus on the good things, ignore the open wounds. Lie, lie, lie.

I was – am – such a liar. But only to myself.

_Everything's alright_. Lie.

_There's nothing wrong here. _Lie.

_She loves you._ Lie.

_She would never cheat on you._**Lie**.

You're always told that you'll reach a certain point in your life where you look back on what you've done and what you've said and just think, "My god, what an idiot I was!"

And it's true; looking back will always make you wish you had done things differently or not done things at all. Sometimes, at good memories, you'll be happy with everything you did and you won't need to taste the bitter taste of regret or hear the irritating chuckle of amusement. Most of the time, though, you're looking back years, to a time where you were younger and more prone to idiocy; the pain from back then has since dulled and become more bearable, more reminiscent than present.

In my case, however, I look back to barely three weeks ago and can only shake my head. How could I think that a farce like this would hold up forever? How could I just subject myself to this? How could I not have left, to go find something better, to put a stop to all the lies before the shit hit the fan?

I was so stupid. I still am.

I wish... but no.

No.

Wishing is for stars, for sunshine, for make-pretend worlds. And now, all I've got left is smog and rain and a girlfriend who gave me her fucking HIV after sleeping with one of her side-boyfriends.

Why is it so hard to hate her?

I exit the car and walk inside the Life Support building and idly run my tongue over my lips.

I can't taste her coffee, but the remnants of bitterness almost make my eyes water.

* * *

_Actually, this should not be a long fic at all (maybe 3-5 chapters, in that ballpark I believe?) so I'm pretty confident in my ability to finish it... though I won't blame you if you lack the same confidence (knowing my awful track record...)._

_Please tell me what you think; I have a lot of interesting ideas for KH that I've been dying to write for FOREVER. This is only one of 'em. Also... the tense is not something I'm used to here and I feel like I'm making plenty of mistakes. If someone could proofread this for me or if all you fantastic readers could just see if you can point out any errors, I would be forever grateful._

_Thanks for dropping by; hope you enjoyed the first chapter!_

_OH, PLEASE NOTE: I am not trying to make Kairi the plain black and white, "bad guy". She made a huge mistake and Riku is struggling between feelings of love and betrayal and anger and disbelief for her. This is not going to be the story where Kairi is an evil bitch with no heart who holds either Sora/Riku in her prissy clutches before the two boys discover each other and run away after pwning her ass. Sorry. Just... keep that in mind. Riku's no saint either; he just didn't cheat on Kairi and infect them both with HIV. _

**.incessant insanity.**


	2. beach

**black and bitter**

**ch2 **

* * *

As we enter through the double doors to where the quaint little circle of chairs is set up, I notice that everyone is looking in our direction. It's not a nosy stare or even particularly directed, just slight curiosity at who the next poor souls are to walk in through the doorway. 

It should make me feel better, to be stared at with understanding and tiredness instead of shock and pity. But it doesn't. I don't_ want_ to be understood by these people. I don't _want_ to see my tiredness, my lifelessness reflected in similar eyes.

Too similar. Too goddamn similar.

We sit down quickly enough, finding two empty seats next to one another without difficulty. Kairi pulls my limp hand from my lap to grasp in her own. I swallow down my anger, my feeling of disgust, and fight the urge to snatch my hand back. The way she plays with my fingers, lacing them through her own, makes me want to cry.

I still let her hold on, though.

Trying not to make eye contact with any of the (kindred souls? no, I don't want them to be) other people in the circle and failing, I see another couple sitting across from us nod and smile tentatively.

Fuckers. I don't want to deal with this. I don't want to deal with this STD, with this life, with this joke of a girlfriend, or with this sympathetic pair who thinks they can smile at me as if they truly see us eye to eye. Because they don't. Their faces are exhausted but content; they were brought to this meeting by means other than one of them cheating on the other and bringing the damn disease to their bed.

I tighten in my seat; I move to stand up and march right out, maybe go and see if I can swallow down some of Kairi's now-cold coffee left in the car. Just to remind myself of the bitterness, of the taste.

Kairi sputters as I wrench my fingers out of hers and as I start towards the door.

"RIKU!" she calls, but I could care less. Let her have her Life Support meeting. It'll "be good for her".

I almost make it to the door, distracted by my snarling thoughts, as a hand grabs my shoulder. Shocked at the human contact, the stranger easily tugs me back to the circle, smiling easily all the way.

Smiling. Radiating happiness and sincerity and all that gunk. Brown, spiky hair, clear blue eyes, white teeth.

... what the fuck? Who invited the ray of sunshine into this doom-and-gloom rainy mess of HIV/AIDS meeting? And the kid is smiling too, beaming at me as he drags me to a chair and sits me down.

Confused and as blank as I am, I can't help but relax, bit by bit. Here's one person who is smiling like we're friends, like nothing's wrong. In his smile, I can see no feelings of "understanding" or "sympathy" and I almost feel normal, almost human. It puts me more at ease and I slouch into my new chair which is situated a few away from Kairi's – enough to give us distance and yet not enough to put her across the circle from me.

Perhaps he had seen us together before and keyed in with some astute observation that I was sick of this woman and needed to get away; or maybe he hadn't seen us and had just given me a random seat. It doesn't matter; I'm starting to like this kid already.

And he is a kid. Younger than I am, for sure, and I'm only 24. He's got a childish grin and blue eyes that _sparkle_; they damn twinkle and I'm pretty sure most people lose that trait after their childhood. He's short and thin, with tan skin and white, perfect teeth, and I idly wonder who the fuck he is.

He's too... healthy, too sunny, to be as sick as the rest of us. To be as sick as me.

He reminds me of the beach. Kairi and I never went to the beach often; she always hated getting sand everywhere and continuously complained at the coldness of the water. So we eventually stopped going; knowing me, though, had we gone just a few more times, I'm sure that the beach would have easily become my most favorite place to be.

No. No, the beach doesn't belong in a place like this, a place where a resigned air tinges the atmosphere and the sadness of all the members depresses everyone else.

Then I see it.

Over the past two weeks, instead of talking to Kairi and getting into arguments and saying things that we did and did not mean, I ignored her, glared at her whenever she came too close to me, and studied up on my latest life disaster.

It takes me a moment to comprehend what it is I'm actually seeing, because it's more of a subtle clue than anything else. Tanned cheeks supporting an unhealthy pink, blue eyes still glowing despite exhaustion. He seems to be swathed in clothes that are too big for him, but I know they must have fit him once.

A fever. Tiredness. Weight loss.

He is just as infected as us, just as hopeless as everyone else. Shock. Disbelief. Sadness that not even someone like him can't escape from the world's unfairness. But he doesn't show his condition at all and I probably wouldn't have even noticed had I not been looking so closely.

I wonder where he draws the strength to still smile like everything's alright.

"I'm Sora," he volunteers as his small person plops down in the vacant chair next to mine.

Sora. Blue eyes that reflect the sky flash through my mind and I cannot believe how eerily appropriate his name is. I give myself a mental buzz.

"Riku," I reply, holding out my hand to shake. My lips tighten slightly when he energetically gives my limb a shake; his boyish hand is hot, feverishly warm, and I wonder just how sick he really is. I wonder just how long he's had this... disease, how long he's been attending these meetings.

It's not something I find I can ask, though.

A small movement of red flickers in my peripheral vision and I spare a moment to glance over at Kairi. She's staring at us hesitantly, body leaning forward as if she were on the verge of getting up to join us. When she notices my piercing look, she deflates slightly and stays where she is.

Sora gives a few curious looks between the two of us but I can see he won't pry. So far, this kid is the most awesome person that I've ever met in the history of my life. Period.

"So I saw you were ready to bolt," he tells me with a slightly amused voice. "Since I haven't seen you before, I bet you're new – the newbies always feel stiff or angry their first few meetings, but it really does get better."

It sounds so much better when he says that than when Kairi tries to convince me that "it'll be good for me". I smile wryly at him.

"It's not that I think these things are useless. I guess all these people who come here regularly say differently; I just don't want this to be useful to _me_," I reply, slouching slightly in the chair and casting another, if slightly less judgmental than the first, glance at the people around me.

Sora smiles, as if what I just said makes some great sort of sense to him. "You don't want to admit that you've passed the, uh, prerequisites to getting into this meeting, huh?"

And what do you know. He does get it after all.

Instead of snapping at him, instead of raging at his ease with the subject and of my reluctance to admit my own problem, I feel myself loosening at his tone; it speaks of good humor and hides no traces of tenseness or pity. So I shrug and find myself latching onto the easy, nonchalant mood. "Yeah, that's pretty much it."

He snickers and slouches similarly in his own chair. "For someone in denial about HIV, you're pretty laid back."

Amazingly enough, he's right. At this very moment, I can't seem to muster any of the anger up or the hatred. Probably because Kairi seems almost a world away right now – apparently, a few chairs and good company can make all the difference.

... hm.

Maybe it's a good thing that I'm lightening up, but still. What the fuck? Is this kid some kind of miracle worker or something? How the hell is he turning me from brooding, angsty Riku to laid back, take-it-as-it-comes Riku?

Un-fucking-believable.

"And for someone who has a life-threatening disease that has completely fucked up his life, I could say the same." I shoot back, amused.

... and there's that insistent good humor, popping up again. I'm getting the weirdest inkling that if I had just said that to any other HIV infected patient besides this kid right here, I'd probably would've been given several dirty looks and maybe a punch to the cheek. Or the eye.

Sora gives me an amused nod, conceding my point, and our small talk elapses into a small silence, one which is easily broken by the tiny chatter coming from everyone else.

My eyes rest on my bare hands. Usually, I wear gloves, but considering I had been moping and shooting angry glares at Kairi all day and hadn't left the apartment once, I'm not surprised I didn't remember them. Still, my hands look too pale, too different for me to stare at for long.

I suspect I'm just not good with change.

He finally breaks it again, to say, "But you're still here, though. Even if you want to deny it."

I quirk an eyebrow. "You had to keep me from leaving two minutes ago."

Blue eyes shine, though from amusement, the raging fever, or the annoyingly cheap fluorescent lights overhead, I'm not sure. "I guessed you would've probably come back eventually. You seem like the type to storm out and then storm back in. But I figured it would be easier for you to adjust if you just stayed from beginning to end."

Whoa. I seem like the type to do what now? Since when did people look at me and say, "Yeah, he's the type to do so-and-so" ?

"Adjust?" I settle for asking, interlocking my pale fingers and bringing them to cup the back of my head.

"Y'know," he shrugs with a flippant tone, "like, hear the stories, listen to what people are feeling, get used to the probing questions and the overhanging aura of unhappiness that never seems to leave some people."

I snort, closing my eyes and wishing those damn fluorescent lights would stop burning my eyelids. "Sounds cheery. I don't want to adjust, however."

I can hear Sora's smile in his next soft words. "No one really does, man, because when you adjust, it's like you gotta admit something to yourself. And when it comes to STDs, well, no one wants to admit anything to themselves. It's still something we all go through, though, whether we like it or not."

No. Serious is bad. Serious is grouped together with unhappiness and Kairi and cheating and broken fantasies and fatal diseases. I don't want that. I can't have that.

So I try to keep the light conversation up. I answer, "Whether we like it or not... that's kind of ominous-sounding, you know?"

I peek open my eyes and expect to see maybe a disappointed Sora or maybe an angry one. People never like to see blatant denial in their faces.

He's smiling, though. It's a sadder smile than the one I saw minutes before, and a little heavier than the one I heard in his voice. But he smiles like he understands.

And for once, I don't hate that, because, as I reason with myself with a mental breathy laugh, he probably does.

* * *

When the meeting actually begins, everyone quiets down appropriately. The group leader, Mark, seems like a nice guy, if not extremely sickly and uptight looking. When he first introduces himself, I stifle back laughter as scenes of RENT flash through my head (not so much his appearance, but rather just the whole scene itself). 

He gives his name (Mark Doughtery) and then talks about some of his likes and dislikes – one of his hobbies being film making. I think my lip is trembling from the effort.

I can see Sora looking at me from the corner of his eye, but he smiles with amusement after Mark talks about his film experience. I know (somehow, I don't know how, but I _know_) that he's thinking the exact same thing I am, that he probably has already thought the same thing tons of times during other meetings.

If we had been anywhere else, I would've grinned at him conspiratorially. A conspiracy of sharing a joke that isn't really funny but actually is because of the people sharing it and the circumstances they're in.

It would've been fun.

"Now, we have some new members this week, so even though we've been through this a whole bunch of times, let's all introduce ourselves," Mark urges, nodding to the person to his right to start it all off. It's Kairi, whose face is now looking like a cross between "deer-in-the-headlights" and hysteria.

She clears her throat nervously and her eyes dart to the door slightly and anger rises in me at the thought of her even being the slightest bit apprehensive. How dare she?

_She_ was the one who insisted so annoyingly that this meeting was good for us and that she, for instance, would be happy to get everything off her chest and to talk to other fellow sickies. A logical part of my mind argues that she has the right to be nervous, especially when forced to finally confront her problems aloud with someone other than me or family.

The angry part of me tells the logical part to shut up and fighting ensues.

"M-my name is Kairi and I have HIV," she blurts out quietly. I think she's waiting for people to clap for her declaration, but I don't really think HIV support groups do that... what's there to clap for in that statement, anyway?

There's some even clapping coming from beside me and I whip my head around so fast to catch Sora in the act. He's looking straight at Kairi with a small smile and clapping his hands together steadily. Hesitantly, others begin to join in, but the clapping doesn't raise past a small smattering of uneasy applause.

Sensing her mistake, Kairi tries to balance embarrassment for her assumption, gratefulness to Sora, her lone savior, and a pleading expression aimed towards me. I feel oddly triumphant at the first, growl at the second, and ignore the third.

Too soon it's my turn and as I get to my feet, the sudden urge to fly outta here comes back with a vengeance. I fight the scowl off my face and stuff my (too open, too vulnerable) hands into my pockets, glancing coolly at the inquisitive circle.

"My name's Riku," I say quietly, and it hits me.

I suddenly realizing that I am introducing myself to a support group for HIV. That I'm introducing myself because I belong here, with these people, who are altogether similar and different from myself. That I can't hope to high heaven anymore that everything will just go back to normal. Saying my name, talking about my hobbies, threads me to these people, to this life, and it's too late to take any of it back.

My pretend world is gone, gone, gone and I can't even believe how dependent I was on it. I'm at a loss to do without it, how to live my life, how to even take a first step on my own, in real time.

I'm so fucking lost.

The amusement from earlier is gone; even the deeper hatred, the anger. I can't hide behind them anymore, pretending to avoid this issue.

I...

I–

"Riku's an artist," Sora pipes up from my side, bouncing up to stand next to me. He turns sunny, questioning eyes to mine and asks, "Right?"

I– wait, what?

Dumbfounded, I can only stare at him. Mark looks at us both expectantly, as do the rest of the members, but I can't even open my mouth. M-my brain has just shorted and- and...

Fuck. What?

Grinning, Sora points unnoticeably to the cuff of his sweater and, still blank, I take a swift look down at my own sleeve. Ink stains. I guess that's what I get for just grabbing a shirt from a pile on my floor, really.

"Er, actually," I finally recover, blinking rapidly to regain full control, "I'm an architect, but, uh, close enough." I'm just shocked that he even noticed or guessed that close to begin with. Small details like that weren't something that either Kairi or I paid attention to, probably because we both knew that if we looked too close...

Well, things tend to always_look_ perfect from afar, at any rate.

Sora laughs boyishly, like he just lost a friendly game of cards. "Ah man, I was almost right!"

I... have never met anyone like this kid in my entire life. He's like one of those characters in a book, too good to be true, and criticized for being so wonderfully perfect; one of those people who you wish so hard it almost hurts to exist, even though you know it's impossible.

He's the exact opposite of my entire life -- bright and optimistic, humble and simple, observant and truthful. The beach, where everything is actually alright instead of you just pretending it is.

I clear my throat and say before my mind can even register it, "I'm, uh, also, really a big fan of the beach." And now I gotta sit down before my mind collapses and my body follows and before I catch those strange looks Kairi's giving me (because she knows, knows that we haven't gone to the beach in years, that I never even went as a kid) from her seat, which never seemed so far away as it did right now.

And Sora crows happily, "Me too!" and I can only be further amazed.

* * *

**So in this chapter, Riku really jumps around from angry and self-depreciating to kind of relaxed and amused. Please note that I didn't just randomly change his moods -- I think of it like this. To Riku, all these emotions are there, yes, and he feels them, but he also uses them; if he's mad, then he doesn't have to think. If he's relaxed, he can put his problems out of his mind. If he doesn't act like he has HIV, then maybe he doesn't.**

**He uses these varying emotions as a sort of shield, as well as a normal outlet. With Kairi, of course feelings of anger and self-hatred are going to pop up first and foremost. With Sora, well, Riku's learning that something about him just kind of puts him at ease -- it'll be interesting to watch as Riku shifts from using his happy emotions from Sora to hide, to actually feeling them, enjoying them.**

**I've never actually been to a support group meeting, so I hope this wasn't too bad. I put them in a traditional circle, but I can't say I really know how they work. As for the clapping thing, er, yeah, I'm not too sure with that, either. Please be kind with these smaller details, though correcting me nicely would be great so I can learn. **

**Well, that's my goal, anyway. Hope you enjoyed the chapter; I should update next week, either Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. Um, I hope. Thanks for dropping by and any type of feedback is greatly appreciated.**

** Sorry that Riku's got a dirty -- uh, conscience?mouth?mind? At any rate, his language is pretty much gonna stay the same, crude or no, through the story, I think, so uh... here's your slightly belated warning.  
**

_incessant insanity _


	3. interlude

**Interlude**

_black and bitter_

* * *

When I got home that evening, all I heard was the last words of a message being left on our answering machine. Knowing that it was too late for me to pick up and feeling totally beat from my two meetings today, I easily let it go and hung up my coat near the door.

It was late; later than I had expected, at the very least, and I wondered where Kairi was with a tight feeling in my chest. She was always coming home later and later, never telling me ahead of time, never calling me to let me know. It was aggravating and more than a little worrying.

With socked feet, I padded over to our fridge and groaned when I realized how empty it was. Almost as empty as my stomach. Kairi had shirked her grocery chores. Again. How is it that I could uphold all my laundry and bathroom chores while balancing weird work hours and she couldn't even keep our kitchen tidy, let alone filled with food?

Ugh. That girl, sometimes.

Shaking the milk carton and finding how close it was to being finished, I shrugged and swiped it from its spot. The expiration date claimed that it was still good and a mixture of exasperation and annoyance swept through me as I began to drink, straight from the carton. Did it taste a little funny? Hmm... maybe. Oh well.

I was all alone, with no idea where my girlfriend was, with no idea if she was with somebody or not, exhausted from work, without dinner, and drinking from our milk carton as if I were some uncivilized slouch or something. Not exactly the scenario I wanted to come home to.

Taking the milk carton with me, I exited our pathetic kitchen and made a seat for myself on our couch by pushing away all the magazines and TV guides. Blankly sitting there for a few minutes, just idly gulping some milk, I finally remembered the tail end of the message I had walked in to. Reaching over to play our messages, I settled in, _ready _to hear something urgent but not really _expecting _anything of the sort.

"You have 2 new messages."

I licked my lips for excess milk.

"Hey, Riku, honey, it's your Mommy. I just wanted to let you know that I am not at all happy with you! You promised me, before you moved in with Kairi, that you would visit at least _twice _a month. We don't live that far away from one another and it's honestly not that difficult to get a bus if you needed to... and here I haven't seen you in three months – three, Riku, count them, that's 12 weeks, 84 days, 2061 hours, however you want to put it!

"-pause-

"On another note, I hope everything's alright, dear, and that things with Kairi are going well. She's such a sweet girl! Do I see a proposal in sight?

"-laugh-

"Anyway, Riku, you better call back and tell me how you are. And for goodness sake, get your puny butt back here for a visit! Alright, love you! Stay safe!"

Making a face, I deleted the message. I just hadn't felt like visiting my parents recently. Parents... well, parents have that odd quirk of theirs that just made them **know** stuff. Secrets that you just want to keep close to your chest, huddled near your heart, lest they explode.

Although, my parents aren't exactly the best at reading me. My mom tends to notice if there is so much as a flux in my sleeping habits, but she often jumps to inane and completely wrong conclusions as to the reasons why. My dad, on the other hand, has the perception of a caveman and rarely notices any changes in me without my mother's prodding. Once he does see the difference, however, his theories are usually all on the mark.

Either way, I didn't have any intention of going home for them to double-team me. As long as no one else mentions my unhappiness (unhappiness? what unhappiness?), then I could just continue on with my life without everything crashing down around me.

I took a vicious sip of milk as the next message began to play.

"Um... hi. Kairi, it's Henry. I... I just... man, okay, this is really hard to say. I- I found out t-today that... well, I have HIV. I... dunno how that happened, but the doctors think I've had it for a while. Um, babe, I just... just thought you should, y'know, be made aware, so that you can, um, get checked also. Last weekend was wicked and I know that we, ah, used protection, but I just... better safe than sorry, eh? Um, it'd probably be better to, er, to, you know, not call me back. You were awesome, though, so, ah, good times, right? Al-alright, um, bye."

**Thunk.**

Maybe... maybe that milk was spoilt after all.

* * *

_So... not really an update. I'm sorry. I don't expect any of you previous readers to even check this entry, considering how long I've left this alone. And it wasn't even that popular to begin with. I've kind of hit a roadblock... I see that I can make this much longer (which is an extremely scary prospect for me, since I've never finished any long sort of story) or I can try to wrap this up in a few more chapters..._

_Problem is, I'm unsure how to wrap it up quickly and cleanly. Oh boy._

_Anyway, this was supposed to be Riku's flashback at the beginning of Ch3 but... well, I decided to make it an interlude all on its own. Ch3... -sigh- is being unfairly difficult. Not to mention that I've been REALLY busy these last couple of months (we just had an English project where we read 6 books in 6 weeks, completing a writing project for each due every Tuesday)._

_If you dropped in, then thanks a lot. I really appreciate it! And if you could drop me a line, that would also be amazing. Later, guys!_

**incessant insanity  
**


	4. inner strength

**black and bitter **

_by: incessant insanity_

* * *

"Riku, where are you going?"

I pause in my hurried hunt for our apartment keys. Kairi sits, straight and almost tense, on our beaten up couch. She stares at me intently, her pale face illuminated by the alien-like glow of the television while the obnoxious voice of Chef Hannah tells her viewers to dice the tomatoes evenly and slowly. I raise an eyebrow.

"Out with some friends."

"Now? At this hour?" Her eyes flicker over rapidly to our Mickey Mouse clock (which was, surprisingly, my own addition to the place and not hers) and back to me. It's 8:47 p.m.

"It's not that late," I reply distractedly. I remember tossing those keys carelessly earlier today and having Kairi bitch at me while picking them off the floor...

She reminds me, "But you have work tomorrow, Riku!"

"Yes," I say very slowly, my throat tightening slightly in annoyance. Jeez, I think I know when I work, woman. I see her open her mouth again and I cut her off quickly.

"I thought you wanted me to get out more, anyway," I interject, finally glimpsing the moogle key chain sticking out from between two crowded potted plants. I snag it quickly and move to grab my flight jacket.

Damn, I love that thing. It's way too comfortable for words.

"I did! I mean, I do, really – " She falters, muting the TV. "I just had hoped, that, ah, when... you – it's just..."

_I wanted you to go out with _me_._

The words are too easy to hear, despite the fact that she bites down hard to keep from actually saying them. My teeth clench painfully and I can feel the guilt and the disgust rolling around in my stomach.

Whatever. I'm going to be late. I walk towards the door and grasp the handle.

"Wh-who are you hanging with?"

A last, desperate attempt. I want to ask, "Are you my mother now or what?" but know that if I give any sort of retort or show any bit of annoyance, Kairi will jump on it like a starving animal. She's so desperate for any sort of interaction, for any sort of confrontation, it's like she's a clock wound up too tight.

Things are shifting nowadays. As I grow calmer, she becomes more volatile. It pisses her off to see me adapting while she can't even start trying to get over herself. Kairi's never really been the "ignorant" one before; all throughout her life, she knew exactly what she was doing, where she was going, what she wanted, and frequently had to chastise the rest of us for being "lazy bums". She was the one who always knew every rule, every assignment, every piece of school-related information – people always went to her for everything, so she grew up feeling large and in charge, as my mother would say.

But with this ... obstacle, even Kairi's at a loss. She reads pamphlets and books for hours on end and recites them to me with a lecturing quality in her voice, but she doesn't _absorb_ anything. She reads like she's studying for a test. She doesn't quite understand that HIV isn't a distant, unrelated subject anymore – that, give or take a couple of years, we'll both be prime examples of whatever chapter she's looking at right now.

She bustles around the apartment, screeching about this treatment and that meeting as if she's on top of everything, just like the old days.

She's not.

And frankly, a lot of her current behavior is getting pretty unbearable and is the reason that I've taken to going out as much as possible lately.

There's a part of me that actually feels bad for her, for leaving her so alone. But it's her own fault, really – I mean, she is just as capable of leaving the apartment and dealing with her problems as I am, if not more so. But instead of reaching out for all the support and shoulders to cry on that she's been offered, she just sits here, afraid.

Whatever attention she does try to give, for some reason, is all focused on me. She sits with me when I watch the History Channel, she wants to borrow my favorite novel, she actually tried to eat Cinnamon Toast Crunch with me one morning. I would've loved all this effort, give or take a few months back, but now...

What is that saying? Too fucking little too fucking late? She somehow thinks that even though she cheated on me, we'll still heal together while nursing and strengthening our feelings of "love".

Yeah, okay. I admit I can't hate her, ever, but even I know that her little fantasy dream is not going to happen.

But as firm I as am with staying with my decision to keep my distance, _of course_, sickeningly enough, a small fraction of my heart actually wants to forgive and forget – to go back to the relationship where there are no unknowns, where everything is familiar. I try to stomp that part into little crushed pieces on the ground, but it hurts; it's still part of my heart, after all, no matter how much I wish it were gone.

God, how pathetic am I?

"Some guys from work," I mutter.

"C-can you come home early?" _So we can talk?_

Just say no, Riku. One syllable, two letters, one vowel, one consonant, one meaning. Tell her that you don't want to talk, that you have nothing left to say, that you want to do what _you_ want for once. Say that you want _her_ to be the one worrying and left in the dark this time, that she should finally know how it feels, how the fear and anxiety and denial just eat up at your insides and steal your breath.

Win this battle, for once –

_TELL HER NO._

"Please?" A mere whisper. Such a tiny voice, no courage, no pride. It burns my ears and I just want to bolt.

"I – " I feel like something horrible's in my chest. "– I... whatever."

That "something horrible" was probably my weak ass reply clawing from the deepest, darkest depths of hell up through my stomach and out through my dry lips. The words even taste bitter.

I need to leave quickly before I lose completely. I close the door behind me softly despite the raging desire to slam it hard.

**How pathetic am I?**

**Pretty damn pathetic.**

* * *

"Maybe I should wait to call them until tomorrow," I mutter as I walk, hunching my back to keep warm.

"That doesn't make any sense," Sora calls from a few feet in front of me, swinging around to stumble backwards and look me in the face. "You said they'd be up at this hour, didn't you?"

I lied to Kairi. I did it on purpose, too. If I had told her that I was going out to hang with Sora, she would've sputtered incredulously, stared at me in shock, and demanded I tell her what I was doing with someone from our Support Group. What's more, if I had told her what we were actually planning to do, she would've gone beserk that I didn't confide in her earlier and would have demanded to come along.

I rotate my shoulder slowly to ease my tense muscles. Whatever. Lying to Kairi was the last concern on my mind right now. "Well, uh, yeah, I think so. They're pretty late workers, so they usually go to bed after eleven... But it'd be kind of insensitive to call them at such a late hour to tell them such bad news, don't you think? I mean, it's already nine at night..."

His nose scrunches and his childish expression turns briefly into one of surprise as he stumbles on a sidewalk crack. What a goofball.

I'm probably smirking right now.

He glares at me slightly, confirming the fact that I've got a smirk on my face, before turning forward again and slowing down to walk by my side. He's grinning.

"If they're up, then that's all that matters. Sure, it'd be nice if you could accommodate everyone, but really, it's your comfort that's important. Who cares if it's an "indecent hour", so long as it's the hour when you can finally muster up the courage."

"But what if I can't do it?" It takes me a moment to ask the question, swallowing twice before I can actually speak.

Sora's grin morphs into a soft smile. "If you find that you can't tell them when you're on the phone, then that's okay. You'll find the courage another day. But you can't talk yourself out of calling before you even _attempt _it, otherwise you'll never get around to doing it!"

His smile droops a bit. "It took me almost four months before I could tell my parents, Riku. Late or early, fast or slow, believe me when I say that it doesn't matter as long as you tell them."

Mom and Dad. I don't even know how I'm going to tell them, how I can even phrase it. I figure there are just some things a son should never have to tell their parents, let alone over the phone of all things. It's like a text message breakup or a Dear John letter or getting the number to a rejection hotline.

As shitty as it is though, I can't help but feel extremely relieved that I don't have to see their reactions firsthand; their predictable shocked silence will be torturous enough.

Of course, this is all what _could maybe sort of kind of_ happen; hey, I might not even have the guts to dial their number in the first place.

"Riku..."

My lips tighten as we stop in front of a nondescript telephone booth in the center of the city's park; I hadn't even realized we had entered the park in the first place. It's quiet and dark, only the unnatural lights of the lampposts spotting through the trees and shrubs. Kind of an odd place to call my parents to tell them that their one and only son is infected with an incurable and horrible illness – it was Sora's idea, of course.

Sora decided that it would probably be best for me to get some fresh air, to call outside of my home and comfort zone. He said that if I tried to call in my familiar apartment, I'd find something to distract me or I would feel too suffocated or too pressured. It's gotta happen naturally, he told me earnestly, and without shame or regret.

He may be a goofball, but he knows what he's talking about. Sometimes, I look at him and wonder how he understands me so well and why he's so fucking smart about all of this. It always takes a second or so before I realize that he's talking through experience. _Experience_. He's not a Riku-Guru or a mind reader or an omniscient angel, he just went through a similar time in his life.

Is _still _going through a similar time in his life.

But it's so hard to pin on him. At the Support Group meetings, a lot of the people there are sick. _Sick_ sick. They look the disease; you can just tell how horrible they feel, how much it's dominating their life. And others look alright, but talk so feebly, so sadly, that there's no mistaking them for healthy.

Sora, though... Sora always looks a little bit sick. His skin is constantly imbued with an unnatural flush and it's not very often that you see him without bags under his eyes. He practically drowns in his old clothes and sometimes, he coughs so dryly, so painfully, that even others have to wince in sympathy.

But you don't feel tired looking at him. You're not filled with sudden pity or with the feeling that something is wrong. You don't get the feeling of doom or gloom by hanging out with him.

That's the real magic of Sora: he makes people look at him like a healthy man. Somehow, someway, the little goofball is able to distract everyone's attention – what with his laugh or his smile or his eyes – and his illness is always pushed to the back of your mind. You see Sora first, his disease second.

And he doesn't fake any of it.

He can laugh at a joke, he can cry (or sniffle; he insists that he never actually tears up) at a sad story. If you poke him in the side, he keeps his face amusingly rigid so as not to give away the fact that he's ticklish. And it's all genuine, to boot.

Sometimes, when I try to laugh, I feel sickeningly nauseous. I haven't cried once, not through this whole affair, or during any one conversation with Kairi. And tickling? No one's tried to tickle me since I was kid (except for that one time that Sora poked me in the side discreetly because I was falling asleep during one of Mark's traditional platitudes; I awoke with a snort of laughter and have been weary of Sora's mischievous grin ever since).

When I'm with him, though, I feel like Riku. I feel like nothing's wrong, like I'm normal again. We don't talk about T-Cell counts or my doctor's appointments. I don't ask him how long he's had the disease and he doesn't say anything when I get the Acute HIV Syndrome and have to stay home for a week. We discuss politics, our favorite novels, our hobbies.

We plan trips to the beach for when it gets warmer.

It's like I'm me and he's him and there's nothing hanging over us, not a single cloud in our sky, not even one drop of rain on our beach. It's nice to have a friend to talk to, to debate with, to make fun of; we have so many common interests and we fit so well together, that I can hardly imagine that I hadn't met him sooner.

Everything's fine so long as I don't think about the first thing that ties us together, that oh-so-important similarity that led us to be at the same place at the same time with the same people. When that little fact is out of my mind, it's like we're an invincible duo.

It's like I'm _happy_.

"Riku," he says again, without the slightest hint of impatience or disappointment. He doesn't nod to the booth or push me with his eyes to do what's right. He just tries to catch my attention.

I take a shaky, shallow breath and step inside, not bothering to close the door behind me. Each coin I insert seems to drop too heavily into the slot, but my fingers are still mostly steady as I press the number keys.

It rings; I shift slightly. I still don't know what to say, where to start, how to explain.

Sunny sky eyes linger on me for a moment, absurdly proud and glowing, before disappearing respectfully as he turns around to give me space. I press the phone uncomfortably hard into my ear and finally hear,

"_Hello?"_

* * *

**What's this? An update? And within a week or so, to boot? Is the world ending?**

**Perhaps. I just got such a kick on there still being some fans left, that I went on a rampage. I wasn't really expecting such kind words or even a review -- THANK YOU SO MUCH!**

**I think I figured out what to do with this story. It'll be a bit longer than I expected, but not as long as I thought I might have to make it. A few more chapters, I believe -- maybe around three or four? So please stay with me, because I actually believe I'll finish this fic. The ending is already written out and everything; I just need to put chapters in between to get there.**

**Thanks for your support and generosity, really. I truly appreciate it.**

**Also, this is kind of obscure (though practically the center of this story), so let me tell you something: Riku is NOT okay. This is not his healing process. He's not almost better!**

**Anyway, please drop me a line if you're reading this. I love all of you who have alerted me or this story, or even faved this fic, but I would love to actually hear from you all if you've got the time.**

**See you next time (hopefully, it will be sooner rather than later!),**

_incessant insanity_


	5. no more hiding

**black and bitter**

chapter five

by _a quirky little tune_

* * *

The silence in the apartment is overwhelming. My teeth gnaw on my lower lip as my fingers tap against my arm. Intense feelings of anxiety and fear solidify and drop heavily into my stomach and I resist the urge to run to the bathroom and throw up my twisting guts.

They should be here any minute now, I suppose.

I turn on my TV, flip to my favorite channel, and sigh as a random, crappy program pops up. Tiredly, I drop on to my couch, the cushion seat indented from years of me sitting in that exact spot. Geez, to think I sat in the same spot on the same couch in the same apartment living the same lie for years. Man, I really need to get my life out of this rut…

The doorbell rings and my muscles freeze. My mind is racing horribly, but my whole body is suddenly boneless. I know in my head that I have to get up and answer the door, that I was the one to schedule this meeting, that my mother will surely cause a right scene outside my apartment should I not answer. But every instinct in my body screams at me to stay put, to hide, hide, hide.

Now I hear my father banging on the door, his knocks even and sedate, though his voice is anything but. "Riku," he calls, his speech muffled by the barrier between us. Despite this, I can just barely hear the stress lying beneath his words. "Let us in – we know you're home!"

Hide, hide, hide, hide…! I don't need to see the quivering lip of my distraught mother, the great tears that I know will slide down her face quickly and fluidly, the guilt buried deep in her posture for encouraging a sham of a relationship. I don't need to see the tense, hunched shoulders of my upset father, the clenching of his fists, the misty screen of tears over his eyes as he struggles to reign in his sadness. I can pretend I'm not here, I can hide elsewhere in the apartment and pretend that I never heard their arrival. They can visit some other time and save this disaster for a later date, when I feel more ready, more prepared.

It's so easy – I really don't need to face them now, feeling so vulnerable – so long as I _hide_ and I _hide now_…

My mind pauses like the rest of my body.

You know what?

…No.

No more hiding. I'm done with hiding.

Hiding is for the old Riku. Hiding is for the old Riku who ducked and took cover behind flimsy lies just because he wasn't man enough to face the fucking truth. The old Riku, who lived in a dreary city, smeared with fog and unhappiness and HIV, but tried so hard to make his hellish life everything that it was not.

It takes me another beat, another pause, another moment, before I am able to switch off the TV and unsteadily stand. A loud roaring sound echoes in my ear, growing louder and louder as I approach the door. My face feels numb. How am I supposed to look them in the eye? How am I supposed to invite them in? How am I supposed to turn this goddamned knob knowing that my parents are on the other side of this door?!

I take the knob in hand before my mind can convince my body to do otherwise. It's actually much easier than I thought it would be, opening the door; it takes a split second and now I'm staring in the apprehensive faces of my parents and it's really not as bad as I thought it would be and _oh shit, I'm staring at my parents_!

"M-mom," I say stupidly. Quick, think of something else to say! Something smart or witty, so she knows you're okay – "How… how are you?"

Well fuck, there goes that idea.

Mom's eyes water for a second, before the tears start rolling down her face. Dad puts a comforting hand on her shoulder, looking solemnly at me. His eyes are tearing up as well.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

But suddenly, seeing their sadness gives me a surprising strength. They're obviously not being the composed, sturdy adults right now, so I'll have to be. We can't all be broken messes right now. If I think like this, I just might make it without any of the waterworks.

"Come on in," I tell them gently, moving out of the way so they can shuffle into my apartment. They settle down awkwardly on the couch I just vacated, trying to discreetly glance about the place as if to see if the walls will tell them just when and where and how my life got so screwed up right under their noses.

I stand near the kitchen, feeling out of place and yet still in control of myself, and offer them anything to eat or drink. Mom shakes her head a little too fiercely, still a little too emotional, and Dad asks for coffee in a thick voice.

I walk into the kitchen and grab a thick mug from the clean dishwasher. I call out, "Kairi made it this morning – is that okay or would you rather I make some more?"

I hear the odd sniffle here and there, a weird silence falling over the apartment. Oh, probably because I mentioned _her_ name. Dad takes another minute or so before he replies, "What you've got is fine, Riku."

Heh, my Dad can be so mature at times. I know for sure that if it had been my mom I was asking, she would have never accepted coffee made by the woman that ruined her only son's life.

Impatiently, I hold the coffee maker button down, watching the lukewarm liquid slosh neatly into the Mickey Mouse mug (again, my own addition and not Kairi's). The scent of it nearly makes me gag; it's too overpowering, too strong, too… ugh, just too bitter.

How anyone can stand drinking this shit is beyond me. Okay, so maybe I used to enjoy a cup of joe every once in a while back in the past, where my days were long and repetitive, stuck in a thankless job and stuck fueling a relationship that should have just died on its own. Recently, though, whenever I try to drink it, no matter if it's black, it's decaf, it's a vanilla latte, or a super duper caramel and honey frap, all I can taste is this awful, dry taste in my mouth.

Heh, are you ready for a totally cheesy extended metaphor? Here goes: coffee is our relationship – depressingly black and tasting like it's made of bullshit (I don't mean bull shit literally, though). I drank it before the whole HIV issue, despite the bitter taste, because I thought I liked it. I filled it to the brim with sugar and creams, trying to hide its true bitter taste under artificial sweetness. And I fell for it. I actually thought it tasted good, that I enjoyed it. Kairi, on the other hand, hated the taste no matter what she put it in it. At some point during college, she told me, she just stopped putting in creams and sugars completely, because she could always taste the bitterness underneath and all the extra sweetness just made her gag. She drank it because she had to, not because she liked it.

It fits pretty perfectly, doesn't it? Isn't it just the most elegant thing you've ever heard? All of the symbolism and the irony and all that shit? Yeah, I know, I know – points to Riku for being a complete and utter loser who can't wax poetic for his life.

I should stay away from extended metaphors for the rest of my life? Yeah... duly noted.

I bring the mug carefully into the living room and hand it to my Pops. He stares at it and frowns a little, momentarily distracted by the drink, "Riku, don't you have any creamers or anything?" he asks.

"Do you not like it black?" I ask in response. He shakes his head and I grin somewhat ruefully. "Sorry, Dad, we don't have any cream here." Kairi never used it in the first place and I don't drink that poison anymore.

He stares some more into his cup of shit and sighs, placing it off to the side table. Normally, I would jump on his back about using a drink coaster, but I can't say that I particularly fucking care about anything in this apartment nowadays (except for my Mickey clock, of course, and my work stuff).

We all stare at one another.

Man, I thought opening the door would be the hardest part of this whole affair. It seems as if my parents aren't going to make the discussion part any easier, either.

My strong façade is, well, going strong. I refuse to let them see how completely Kairi has crippled me.

"Oh, Riku," my mother starts out, impulsively grabbing my hand and tugging me down onto the couch next to her. She's wiped the tears from her face while I was in the kitchen, but new ones are budding in her eyes. "Why didn't you tell us earlier?"

I look at where our hands are clasped together, avoiding that watery stare. "I was… afraid."

"Of our reaction?" Mom asks, looking horrified. "You know we'd never hate you, sweetheart, especially over something that isn't your fault!"

I chuckle a bit, jerking my gaze up to her face before it becomes permanently glued to our hands. "No, no, not at all. I guess it was just… each time I admit it to someone else, it becomes more real, more unavoidable. I don't want it to be real; I can't let it be real. I'm terrified of the morning that I wake up and find that my nightmare has truly become my reality." I gulp and curse inwardly. That was far more emotional than I had wanted it to sound. Hell, where was my calm, cool, collected façade?

I take a moment to reign in my straining emotions and continue more rationally, "It was doubly hard to talk to you guys about it because… well, I had no idea how to tell you guys that your only son is suffering from an incurable virus that will eventually kill him. How do you tell your own parents that you're dying?"

Dad stands up and begins to pace. His coffee cools even more, forgotten and bitter off to the side. "Son," he starts, then has to stop and collect his thoughts, "Riku, we're here for you. No matter what you need, where or when you need it. And I'd like to think you already know that. But please, Riku, please try to help us understand… tell us how this… this all happened." His arm sweeps out in a wide gesture, his face sad and terribly confused.

"It's a long story," I say with a sigh, knowing that it was finally time to talk about everything I once swore I would never admit to myself, let alone to my parents. I pull my hand away from my mother's and run nervous fingers through my long hair. When I start speaking again, my voice is shaky – fuck.

"Kairi and I… we've been having problems for a long time. I never wanted to admit to myself that our relationship was falling apart, so I ignored all its flaws. Kairi did the same… or at least, it seemed like she was." My mouth twists into an angry snarl, then reluctantly relaxes. "I was so busy trying to believe that our relationship was perfect that I ignored all the warning signs. Complete disregard for my opinion, never kissing me goodbye or goodnight, staying out late, getting text messages from friends I never knew she had, canceling on our dates – it was all there and I just took it all, hoping it was a phase or a rough patch. She started avoiding me and abandoning all her chores, like shopping for food or making the bed. Our life together evaporated; it was like we were living two separate lives that just happened to be in the same apartment."

Dad sits back down and I frown, trying to come up with the right words to describe how everything went so wrong.

I hesitate to say this, but I think it needs to be said. "But even before all that shit…" My mother's glare for my foul mouth does nothing to deter me. I shake my head as the revelation becomes clear in my own mind. More confidently, I say, "Even before all those telltale signs, our relationship was not what it should have been. It was too routine, too lukewarm. It was my first serious relationship, so I never questioned a damn thing… but I should have. If I had stopped for even a mere second and asked myself, 'Is this how a man in love should feel?', I doubt we'd be sitting here right now in the situation we're in."

"You never loved Kairi, then?" Mom asks, pale and upset. She's twisting her wedding band around her finger agitatedly.

"I did, maybe sometime in the distant past," I answer quietly. "But I haven't been in love with her for a very long time. We got together because everyone expected that we would. It was only natural – we grew up with each other, we were around the same age, our personalities didn't clash, we were close friends in high school. I wasn't completely blameless, but in a way, I had no choice but to choose Kairi. And as the years passed, I became content, but not happy. I was surviving, but I wasn't living. I was so caught up in having someone by my side that I never questioned whether it was her I wanted there in the first place."

I raise my eyes, first to my mother's, then to my father's, and ask almost shyly, "Does that make any sense?"

Dad looks tired, drained. He nods. "It makes a lot of sense, Riku." The wrinkles around his eyes deepen in regret. "I'm just sorry it had to be like that. I'm sorry we never caught on."

"Hell, even I never caught on," I smile wryly, feeling uncomfortable at their guilt. Couldn't they see it wasn't their fault?

"I kept pushing you and pushing you about this relationship," Mom speaks suddenly, staring very intently at a spot on the floor. I try to cut in and stop her guilt-ridden words before she can utter them, but she raises a sharp hand at my attempt and gives me her most stern glare. She goes on, "I badgered and joked about you proposing to Kairi. I _contributed_ to this mess, pressuring you into more expectations concerning your relationship with her. I didn't realize that my own son was lying to himself day after day to keep up with what he thought we expected of him."

All that she says is true. I can't lie to her, so I instead offer weakly, "You couldn't have known."

She smiles unhappily. "I'm your mother, Riku. Mothers know everything…" She sniffles. "At least, they're supposed to."

I hug her, because really, what else can I do? I hug her tightly and wish that everything will be alright. But wait… wishes are for pretend worlds. Wishes are gone. All I have are promises now. _My_ promises. Her thin arms squeeze me tightly and I feel every ounce of her apology, of her pain for me, of everything I need to know in those arms. I squeeze back, hoping to convey my promise wordlessly yet strongly that everything will work out. We separate and she smiles at me, effortlessly believing.

Now I just need to believe in that promise myself.

"So how did you find out?" Dad finally asks, looking distinctly awkward. This is not a situation he has ever experienced, nor one he thought he ever would. I don't blame the poor guy.

"Find out about her affair, you mean?" I clarify. Ugh, this part of the story really sucks. "Well, I got home from work and the apartment was empty. I played the answering machine to see if we had any messages. I had one from you guys –" insert playful glare "—bugging me about when I was going to visit again, and one other from Kairi's side boyfriend. He must not have known she had another guy, or at the very least, not known that she lived with said other guy, because he left her a message telling her that he got tested for HIV and was found positive, so she should get checked as well."

They both wince. I guess they were hoping that maybe Kairi had come clean with me or some other such nonsense. Heh, I guess they really don't know what she's like.

"So you found out through…"

I laugh. "Through her boy toy, yes. It was one shock to find out that she was cheating on me. It was another to find out that we might both have HIV because of her selfish, shallow behavior."

"I can't believe her…" Mom says through gritted teeth, a dull flush coloring her cheeks. "How could she… why would she _ever_…?"

Lips thinning, Dad crosses his arms and his brow furrows deeply.

These two make quite the picture in their seething anger. I chuckle noiselessly. "Honestly," I tell them, "I'm not really sure. One part of me wants to demand answers from her while the other wants nothing to do with her." I look at them quite seriously. "I don't know how much longer I can stand to live here."

"Of course not!" Mom stands up in a flash, eyes still a bit red from crying but now glowing with determination. "In fact, I don't understand why you haven't broken up with her yet."

Distracted from his anger, Dad turns puzzled eyes my way. "Er… actually, why haven't you left her yet?"

That's a good question. I run my fingers through my hair again and sigh. "It's… well, I'd been lying to myself for so long that when all this happened, I had to do some serious reflection to see where and when everything had gone to Shitville."

"Riku," says Mom, using her warning voice. I roll my eyes good-naturedly – geez, I _am_ twenty-four, you know.

"All the stuff I just told you… it's all stuff that I figured out recently. And no matter how much I dislike her, how badly I think of her… I don't think I'll ever be able to hate Kairi. I did love her once. She was also my closest friend for years. I _want_ to hate her – she ruined both of our lives and for what? But it's like there's just some part of me that refuses to hate her." I mostly just hate myself, but I doubt that would go over well if I said that.

"You're not thinking of staying with her, are you?" Mom looks extremely concerned about this.

I snort. "I wouldn't even if you paid me. But I spent years with the woman… it's not as easy as packing up and leaving. Too many loose ends to take care of… and all that stuff."

It feels a little like I'm making excuses for myself. Maybe it would be that easy, to just pack up and go. Maybe I'm the one who's afraid of leaving, who's afraid to take that final step in letting go the life I lived for years –

No. I don't want to think about this right now. Eventually, I'll have to face the issue of moving out and starting my life over, but I can't deal with it so soon. I'll cross that bridge when I get there, I suppose.

Dad places a strong hand on my shoulder, offering support. "You know, whenever you do whatever you need to do… you can always come live with us. Our house is always open to you."

I already knew that… but it was unexpectedly wonderful to hear them say it aloud. I can't stop the slow smile that takes over my face. "Thank you," I say gratefully.

My mother is glancing at her watch, muttering a quiet, "Shoot!" underneath her breath. She grins at both of us. "Well, on that positive note, your father and I are already half an hour late to our meeting."

Dad, startled, glances at the Mickey Mouse clock and says completely deadpan, "Shit." Mom whacks him on the head for that one and they begin to ready themselves for departure.

I watch them from the couch, not really believing that the meeting I had so dreaded was over. This was it? This was what I had been terrified of? My face heats up slightly when I remember that I wanted to hide in my apartment when my parents knocked on the door.

Man, I'm such a dork. I stifle a laugh, my whole body feeling so much lighter than this morning. Sora was right, it really does feel good to get things off your chest.

That goofball… he can be wrong about which actor starred in which show, he can get the movie times totally mixed up, he can give the wrong directions to a bar downtown, and he always seems to mix up his own words. But when it comes to subjects that really matter, well, it's like it's impossible for him to be wrong. Sora's never failed me yet… and I get the feeling he never will. I know it sounds unreasonable, but there's a good distinction between making a mistake and failing someone.

He'll probably screw up sometimes. And we'll probably have arguments that are petty and serious and everything else in between. But despite all the mistakes and misgivings I'm sure we'll encounter, I know that he'll always have my back even when he doesn't agree with what I'm saying. I know that when we fight for real, it'll be because we both have the desire to iron out whatever problems we have; we won't ignore the flaws and fight over shallow, unimportant things like Kairi and I used to. If he has an issue with me or if I have a bone to pick with him, I know our relationship is sound enough for me to confront him or vice versa.

I won't be afraid to talk to him, wondering if this argument will shatter our fragile… whatever this is. In fact, I know that we'll just become stronger and stronger as time goes on. As long as we are completely honest with one another… as long as we both believe that our relationship deserves and can handle whatever truths we find… In that way, I know that Sora will never fail me.

My parents both hug me, holding on a little tighter than is normal. Mom nearly begs me to call her soon and give her updates on my life and Dad nods along in complete agreement. I grin as they leave and shut the door with relief.

I breathe a deep sigh of relief. Phew. At least that's over with.

The first thing I need to do is get rid of that disgusting coffee that's probably ruining my table as I stand here. I grimace as I pick up the mug a bit too quickly, some of the cool coffee dripping on my hand. I dump it as quickly as I can into the sink, watching it go down the drain with a feeling of slight satisfaction (yes, I know that this is kind of pathetic, but… ah, well, whatever. I'm healing emotionally here, damn it!).

I sit back down on the couch, making sure to sit on the opposite side of where I normally sit. After all the talking and the emotions shared today, the apartment now seems a little too quiet with me just here by myself. Shrugging, I grab the remote and turn on the TV, satisfied as the History channel pops up on screen.

World War II documentary? Excellent. I've wanted to catch this special for weeks now. Ah, today was actually a great day. Spoke to my parents, finally revealed my crummy relationship with Kairi, my favorite channel finally showing me the episode I most wanted to watch…

I don't think anything could ruin this for me –

And then, of course, the apartment door opens. Three guesses who _that_ is.

Damn it, I definitely just jinxed myself. There goes the rest of my relaxing afternoon, taking with it my good mood for the rest of the day. And just as I suspected, in walks Kairi, looking both perplexed and confused as she hangs her coat up in the closet.

"Hey," I say, not even bothering to look up as I greet her. They've started to talk about the fighter planes used and I am fascinated when they begin interviewing real pilots who flew during the war.

"Hey," she says in return, her voice hesitant as if she wants to ask me something but isn't sure she should. After a few more moments of her shuffling about, she plops down next to me on the sofa (looking slightly confused at the seating arrangements as she now sits where I used to) and reaches for the remote, no doubt to change the channel to Rachel Ray's "please-please-kill-me" cooking special.

Years worth of disgust and anger for always letting her do as she wished bubbles to the surface. I always let her change the channel to watch whatever _she_ wanted to watch. I never fought, not once, over the remote. She probably isn't even aware of how selfishly she acts, of how absolutely self-absorbed she is. My life has always centered around what made her happy, what she wanted, what could make her day a little bit better, thinking foolishly that if she were happy, I would be happy. That if I treated her well, she would reciprocate the same thoughtfulness for me.

And the few times I dared to do what I wanted to do (in this case, it would be watching documentaries on things like World War II and presidents), she would either switch the channel without any regard for my preference or she would leave the room. It was either her or the History channel (as absurd as they may sound); I could never have both. I wasn't important enough for her to sit through one hour of a show she hated –can you believe that? I wasn't worth it, apparently.

I was _never_ worth it.

Something in me snaps.

"Don't you dare press anything," I growl, smoothly grabbing the remote from her suddenly limp grasp. She stares at me astonished, frowns, then huffs and gives in, surely unaware of the importance behind my long awaited outburst. She fiddles with a loose thread in her skirt and seems to be mustering up the courage to say something.

"Uhm…" And here it comes. She pauses, then goes on, "So I, uh, saw your parents downstairs when I was coming into the building."

One pilot goes in depth about a dogfight where he had narrowly missed getting shot down. Man, Sora would _love_ this guy! He speaks so lucidly and excitedly for an older man – and in such detail, too.

Hm? Oh, right, Kairi is talking. "What about them?"

"They didn't look, um, very happy to see me," she says nervously. This catches my attention.

I laugh darkly. "Of course they weren't." Kairi looks at me, almost shocked. Even though I only catch her face in my peripherals, it's still golden. Ha, serves you right. "I just told them allllll about us."

"_What_?" she screeches, jumping to her feet immediately. "I thought you said you weren't going to tell them!"

"I wasn't planning on it initially, no." I finally turn my head to meet her outraged face. I stare her down with a cool glare and can't quite keep my lips from stretching into a smirk. "I only said that because I thought it would keep you happy. But then I realized how ridiculous that was. They're my parents, for crying out loud, and I need them."

I eye her critically. Tears are piling up in her eyes (shit, I've had enough of crying today – enough to last me a fucking lifetime), but whether she's crying from losing control of the situation or from anger, I have no clue.

"Y-you said you wouldn't! I trusted you to keep your word!" she finally yells. A beat passes. All the color from her face drains.

Good, she's aware that she's said the _wrong fucking thing_.

"Trust?" I seethe quietly, my voice lacking volume yet still echoing through the apartment. "You know how goddamn stupid you sound right now? First you ask that I keep our situation quiet to my parents – my own mother and father who fucking _raised_ me –just because you don't want to look bad. You hate the idea of anyone knowing how badly you screwed up, of other people hating you for something even you know is your fault. Shit, do you even realize how selfish a person you are?"

Kairi looks so fragile, so pathetic now, that I have to force myself to stop. She opens and closes her small mouth several times before her eyes narrow. "_Excuse me_? Is there anything wrong with wanting to preserve some self-dignity? _So what_ if I didn't want your parents to know? I'm dealing with everything the best way I can, Riku – and who are you to talk?! You are far from perfect yourself. You distance yourself from me, thinking yourself too good to associate with the likes of me just because I made ONE mistake – a mistake that I'm already paying for! So- so don't just sit there with that condescending attitude of yours, thinking that you're better than I am, you bastard!"

My hands are shaking. I want to continue this argument. Yell at her until I turn blue in the face. Scream exactly what I think of her, let her know every little thing I've been thinking about these past couple days. Destroy all her flimsy, glass excuses and force her to see just how awful a person she is. But I won't.

She's not worth it.

In fact, there is only one thing that I truly need to say to her now. I can't believe that I'm saying it and isn't this moving too fast and maybe I should think this through more but the words fall off my lips naturally, and despite my panic, I know this is the right time after all. Kairi...

"**We're over**."

* * *

_Words cannot express how sorry I am for leaving this story to rot for over a year. If none of you are reading this anymore... well, I totally understand. The situation hasn't really changed: all my old blurbs and thoughts for the end of this story are trapped on my other computer and I still need to find a way to open those documents on my new one. A little while ago, however, I basically decided to just start writing anyway. So I wrote and wrote and wrote and ended up with this baby. I'm immensely proud of this chapter and I hope that you enjoy it as well -- it helps that this is one of the longest chapters I've ever written._

_Not a lot of Riku/Sora action, but then again, their romance isn't supposed to be the focus of this story -- Riku's healing is. And I bet tons of you were waiting for Riku to finally say those words; I know I sure was._

_I really enjoyed writing this chapter and would really like some feedback. Please. _

_Thanks for reading,_

**a quirky little tune**

PS:_ About a month ago, I received a review from _**E**_ that was so encouraging and understanding, I started writing chapter five. _**E**_, if you are reading this, thank you so much for your kind, patient words -- they were all I needed to motivate me to write this story again. Hope you liked this installment!_


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